


A Heart In Chains

by Rasmussen



Series: Erotic Fairytales [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Beauty and the Beast, Comfort, Drama, Erotica, Fanfiction, Fluff, Gen, Hurt, Inspired by Beauty and the Beast, Light Smut, Love, Multi, Other, Pain, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasmussen/pseuds/Rasmussen
Summary: For a hundred years, Beast has borne his curse. Despairing and lonely, he has begun to accept his fate - to die alone, no longer human. A monster. Blighted forever. Until he meets Belle, a girl who smells of hope and new beginnings.And in the space of one night, his life changes drastically.Belle is a bright and intelligent young woman with a fierce love for life. But she hides a secret: She does not know her past. She is scared and alone, save for the kind old man who took her in and made her his own daughter. And in the night, nightmares haunt Belle - of a man, a castle. And a terrible spell.And even as Belle has sworn to discover more about her mysterious past, she finds herself increasingly drawn to the reclusive master of the castle in her dreams.Who might hold all the answers to the questions she seeks.





	1. Chapter 1

Cold.

Searing, bone-numbing cold that left a man in despair and robbed him of all hope. Though he had not been a man in a long time.

It was always this cold in his castle, a never-ending winter of the soul that ravaged his home and kept it in steady decline. An ugly monstrosity of stones and gray towers that reflected the eternal hunger inside him. He was his castle and his castle was he. They were one and the same. And whatever evil seeped from his heart bled unto the very foundation of his home.

It had been his home for a hundred years – maybe more – he’d forgotten to count. After the first few decades of rot, it had not mattered anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. He was destined to die here in this barren place of his own making.

The winter air had more than its usual bite tonight. But maybe that was because of the date. The moon shone brightly from its perch in the sky, and his balcony was bathed in the eerie glow of luna-light.

“My prince?” Lumiere on his left. The little, gold candelabra shone brightly beside him, a beacon of warmth in the otherwise dark and dreary atmosphere. “It’s cold out tonight, isn’t it?”

It was always cold in the night. The darkness was a breeding ground for the death of heat. But Beast replied dryly: “It’s winter, Lumiere. What did you expect?”

Lumiere paused, the began to sputter. Cogsworth beside him made a tsk-tsk noise and proceeded to enumerate all the possible reasons why Lumiere should not have interrupted the prince in his morose mood. Lumiere protested soundly. Cogsworth argued louder. 

In the midst of their friendly and familiar bickering, Beast secretly smiled. He for his part, was glad of the company and the entertainment the two servants brought to his otherwise bleak evenings. Though he would never tell them that.

“Lumiere.” The gruff voice that issued from vocal chords that were no longer human still irritated him. “Prepare my dinner, will you?”

Lumiere leveled an insolent stare at him, which was quite a feat considering his current state. ”Do I look like a cook to you, my prince?” Behind him, Cogsworth hissed.

Beast raised an eyebrow at his candelabra. ”Do you presume on me Lumiere?”

Lumiere’s flames turned bright red. If he had still been human, this would've been quite the blush. “Erm…” He turned away and muttered: “At least say please.”

Cogsworth, who usually frowned on Lumiere's enduring over-familiarity with the prince, took pity on the candelabra. ”We will attend to your dinner, my prince.” He told Beast, then he proceeded to drag the protesting candelabra unto the hallway, calling down curses on Lumiere's flaming head, before turning back. “Will you be having it in your room, sir?”

Beast considered that. “Yes.” He always did. 

Cogsworth bowed and led Lumiere out. As soon as the door to his bedroom shut, Beast heaved out a sigh.

This was a particular routine they endured over and over again. The servants knew he always took his dinner in his bedroom. To do so in the dining hall would be to be reminded of all he had lost. And he did not need those at all. Particularly tonight.

Not tonight.

For tonight marked the anniversary of his curse. And he would rather spend it alone as he always had. He sighed again. As he turned away to slink back into the shadows his room, Beast raised his head. Alertness etched on his features vivdly. He sniffed the air.

Paused.

Sniffed again. There was something new in the air tonight: Something foreign, and yet not unfamiliar. Hmmm. That was new.

He ignored it.

It was only later as he wolfed down his dinner that he realized what it was that was so different about the scent in the air.

The scent was hope.


	2. Chapter 2

She smelled like shit.

But if one were to be completely fair, she was not the only who smelled so. The pigs in her father’s farm were the primary source of the offending fragrance that now coated her person – along with bits of brown mud, various assortments of dirt, and… a lump of suspiciously dark substance she did not want to contemplate what.

She’d been climbing the oak tree beside their house to rescue the cat, and had literally fallen into this mess. Landing in a pig sty was not fun at all.

But the hogs around her seemed to think so and they ran in gleeful circles, streaking more mud and dirt. Happy pigs. She tried to stand, slipped, and splashed more mud around her. The pigs began squealing louder, jostling her as she laughingly screamed at them to stop.

They didn’t.

In the end, Belle gave up and rolled around in the muck with them. It had been such a long time since she’d felt this carefree and happy. She was sure she’d had a childhood like this. But the thing was, she couldn’t remember when…

A frown marred her beautiful features as she tried to recall memories of her past. But it was useless. Those memories were stubbornly locked away.

One year ago, she’d come here to this village – sick and cold, wearing only rags and a threadbare coat. And racked with nightmares of an abandoned castle and a… howling beast. Searching for a voice only she could hear inside her head. Lost and with no memory of where she came from or how she got there, she’d been a vulnerable target for anyone who could’ve taken advantage of her. But Maurice had found her, shown her kindness. Maurice the old, lonely man. The village scholar. No daughters of his own, and two sons gone off to travel the word. So when she’d gotten better, he’d asked her to stay as his daughter. She'd accepted.

Because she was grateful towards Maurice for championing her in her need. And because she had heard a desperate cry for help from a voice in her dreams. And she’d felt that tug here, in this village, closest. She’d stayed. And waited.

But she had to remember why she heard the voice. A man’s voice, deep and dark. It resonated with her down to her very bones.

Belle huffed, frustrated. Having no memories of a life spent growing up turned her mood sour whenever she thought about it. Playtime with the pigs was over.

And then she gingerly tried to stand up again, hampered by the skirts she wore. Rolling around in the muck was one thing, smelling like a pig was a another. And as much fun as the whole idea of getting dirty was, she had duties to complete and a book to read.

She reached out for the wooden fence of the sty and was rewarded by her efforts with a large, male hand that clasped her arm and pulled. A second male hand encircled her tiny waist and lifted her out. Belle turned to look at her rescuer, intending to thank him

Her words died on her lips as she saw that it was no other than Gaston.

He smiled. “Hello Belle.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Oh no, Gaston.

Belle scrambled back from his grasp hastily and put a sizeable distance between them. Not Gaston.

Of all people to find her thus… Him! She loathed his presence and did everything she could to avoid him. But the man was as determined to stick to her as she was determined to evade him. The ass.

Gaston was determined to marry her off to the best man in town that he could find – himself. And while she, Belle, was a girl who dreamed of romance when she wasn’t having nightmares about the castle and its master – she was never going to lower herself for the likes of Gaston. He did not like books. He did not like women reading books. That was reason enough to refuse his gritty suit.

She stared in dismay as his smile widened at her clumsy escape. This was depressing. And for a moment, lost in the horror of her current situation, Belle forgot her frustration at her lack of memories.

Belle watched in fascination as Gaston’s wide smile gradually turned into a disgusted frown. Good. He’d noticed the smell. The indescribable evolution from elation to a look of revulsion  on Gaston’s pompous, handsome face would be a story for the ages. Belle almost smiled herself.

Almost. She caught the look of consternation on Gaston’s face. “Belle!” He roared, to no one in particular, startling a few chickens and enraging her father’s pigs.

Belle smirked.

He advanced on her, and she scooted back further. “Belle, why in the name of blazes do you smell like – like- like a pigsty?” His eyes narrowed dangerously and his face reddened with – possibly – his efforts to restrain himself. “Tell me woman, why?”

“You rescued me from a pigsty.” She pointed out acerbically. “What else would I smell like?”

As if on cue, Gaston’s narrowed eyes widened and shock etched across his features. “I did?” He looked down his hands, which were covered with leftover muck from Belle. “I did!” He clenched his fists. “By god, I did and it’s your fault Belle!” He showed his hands to her. “Look what you made me do!”

“I beg your pardon?” Belle asked. Really. Blaming it on her was rather stupid in her opinion. Her estimation of him lowered drastically. Not that he’d ever been high on it. But still, it was rather amusing to continually appraise a man whose value to her never rose from the mud that stuck to his boots.

“For the love of – women are impossible!” Gaston was back to roaring. “This is what happens when you let a woman run about doing things no proper lady should do.” He scowled. “This is what happens when a woman reads. I’m having a word with Maurice.”

Belle’s temper spiked. “I beg your pardon!” She huffed and stomped her feet. “That is absolutely ridiculous!”

“Not as half as ridiculous as you mucking around in that pigsty.” He shouted.

“I fell, you idiot!”

“And knocked your head, I gather. Of all the stupid notions!”

“This is nonsense!” She cried at him and began to turn away, to climb the steps that led up to her father’s house. “You stupid, idiotic moron.” She huffed again. "I have had enough of this man's world where women who read are considered disappointing and crazy. Really. And blaming this entire situation at books." She turned back and glared at him. "What a preposterous idea!"

Her exit might have been more dramatic if she hadn’t slipped.


	4. Chapter 4

“Belle.”

A deep voice: male and dark.

“Belle.”

It invited her, sent her senses soaring.

“Belle, come to me.”

She answered: “Where are you?”

“Belle, come to me.”

This was her nightmare, the one that came to her every time she closed her eyes. But Belle could no more resist it as she could the hauntingly familiar voice that spoke to her and beckoned her to him. It was gruff, rough, and sent fissions of awareness skittering on her skin.

In her dream, she was running down a darkened hallway. The place was cold and unwelcome, and obviously unkempt. It looked like no one had taken care of it in a long, long time.

“Belle, take me.”

It always took this turn.

Suddenly, Belle found herself trapped in the hard embrace of a man behind her, his breath whispering down her nape, teasing and tickling.

His voice was warm honey and whiskey. ‘Belle, save me.”

She couldn’t answer him. She never could. In all the times she had dreamt of him, she’d never been able to speak to him, to talk and answer his plea. And she never saw his face. It was always behind her, hovering beside her, covered in the shadows as if in shame.

"Belle, free me. I have a terrible curse. A spell."

She feared this. Feared him. Wanted him. Wanted this oh, so badly. “Belle, love me.”

And his lips came crashing down on her skin, pressing hard. The he bit. Hard. His teeth was a sensual onslaught, attacking gently and overpowering her will. The heat of his kiss coursed through her, going straight down to her core.

Belle gasped.

And woke up.


	5. Chapter 5

Rain pounded mercilessly on the gray stone walls of his castle. Hard, little drops of water that cruelly crashed against the rough surface of stone that had stood for centuries – wearing away little by little the token resistance offered by the stalwart unmovable.

Beast sighed.

And felt the pounding of the rain on his heart. He watched the storm rage outside his home in all its natural splendor, nature at its angriest. Winder was coming soon. He knew it in his bones. Could feel the chill that pervaded starting from that night two weeks ago when he had first scented hope.

He had not scented hope since. And he had wondered if he had just imagined it. Maybe he was losing his mind. That was a distinct possibility given his situation.

Curses drove you mad.

Then had come the dream last night. The wonderful dream that smelled of roses in bloom – a scent he was familiar with and called hope. It had come in his deepest slumber, while night strove on in moonlit darkness.

A name had sounded in the darkness. Belle. His own voice calling out to her, wanting her.

His body responding to her scent, her name, as it had not responded in over a century. He had touched her with his lips, pleaded like a madman though he knew not why. And he’d woken up with an aching need in his chest and his groin, remembering the feel of her soft skin on his lips.

Most strange.

And cruel. It had been a hundred years since he wanted a woman like this, a hundred years since he’d felt the need to give and take in an erotic embrace. The curse that had left him a man in an animal’s misshapen body had not permitted such human desires.  It had not permitted to slake those desires either.

Ah, this curse that his undoing… No, wrong. It was his pride and vanity that had been his undoing. The curse had been a result of that. All because he’d refused shelter to an old woman in the middle of a storm much like the outside. He’d lost everything – his title, his looks, his people. And somewhere deep down, Beast suspected that something else had been taken too.

A memory. A sense of a lifetime that had been taken away. Just a sense of it. But of course, he could not remember it.

Now his life was tied to the precarious nature of an enchanted rose and the whims of the words of a fatal spell. And he’d been angry at first, at everyone and at himself.  Then... not.

Beast sighed again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that these days but he just couldn’t help it. Short of raging or crying, sighing seemed like the thing to do.

He looked up into the gray, cloudy sky of early morn, letting the rain wash his furry face in angry drops.

Behind him, the enchanted rose of his curse glowed bright red for a moment for darkening again.

One of its petals withered and fell. 

His time was running out.

**Author's Note:**

> Beauty and the Beast re-imagined - with an alternate ending (still a happy one though).  
> Book One of my new series, Erotic Fairytales.  
> Enjoy!


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